


new heights

by kirksjames



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, angsty, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirksjames/pseuds/kirksjames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he thinks he doesn't have the right to miss Marco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	new heights

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry about any grammar mistakes and stuff, English is not my first language and i suck at everything. any feedback is highly appreciated. also please correct me if anything is wrong and etc. thank you.

Mario can hear all his teammates around him but he isn't paying attention to what they are saying. He looks over at the other side of the changing room and sees Gomez and Thomas exchanging hesitant looks. He sees Kevin laughing at something Lukas said. Sees Neuer shaking his head to himself (he’s probably thinking about a hundred things to say to the entire team, as usual). He feels hands on his shoulders, he hears people saying great goal from time to time but he can’t distinguish their voices or their faces. All he can hear is Marco’s quiet voice talking to André by his side, he hears his laugh and Mario feels his heart skip a bit and sink inside his rib cage. All he can feel is the post game warmth emanating from Marco’s body, a warmth that he used to know so well. Mario remembers (he knows that things that were never forgotten can’t actually be remembered) that in these moments, they would be sitting together with their bodies pressed against each other, whispering soft words into each other’s ears. Words that would make Mario blush, that he thought Marco only said them out loud because of the adrenaline that made them all high after winning a particularly hard game. And he misses those moments, misses how Marco’s mouth used to feel against the soft skin of his neck. He needs those moments back, he craves them, like he craves food or needs air to breathe and stay alive.

He sits still, running a hand down his short hair and sighing heavily trying to calm himself down. Sometimes he thinks he doesn't have the right to miss Marco. He doesn’t have the right to miss playing with him, miss joking around on trainings with him, laughing at everything Marco says to him, playing FIFA and watching random things on TV without actually watching it or just staying in bed together, only looking at each other without saying anything, they knew their eyes would speak for them. He doesn’t have the right to not allow Marco to be angry at him forever, even if he always says that they are alright, that nothing has changed. Mario feels like he put a rock on top of what they had and it’s crushing them slowly and nothing will ever feel the same again. He doesn’t have the right because he was the one who left. 

His hands are shaking and his eyes are burning from tears that are trying to escape but he refuses to let them. He unties his boots quietly and slowly, busying his hands so they stop shaking and trying not to give away that the action is taking longer than necessary and that his shoulders are tense.  


He notices that Marco is quiet and looking for something in his bag (Mario knows better, knows that he is waiting for something, he can see the way he fumbles around looking for nothing in particular), murmuring things to himself. They are alone now, everyone left like they knew both of them had something to work out and they needed space and time to do so. Mario isn’t sure if Marco acknowledged that they were left alone together and he knows that this is the time to break this awkward silence that was weighing down on them or they would both regret it later. Just like he also knows Marco won’t speak first, so Mario has to try.

He coughs first, wanting to get Marco’s attention so he doesn’t feel like an idiot talking to himself. He waits a few seconds until he sees his friend’s hand stop inside his beg and Mario is sure he’s waiting for him to talk. “You were… You know… You played well.” He says, his voice dropping a little before finishing the sentence. Mario curses under his breath because that wasn’t what he wanted to say at all. He wanted to say things that would mean more to Marco, he wanted to say _you were great out there_ , or _you were brilliant_ and mostly _I missed you, I missed playing with you, I missed knowing you were there to catch my passes or just there at all_. He wanted to touch Marco and feel his skin again, wanted to breathe him in or drown in him, in his scent, his warmth, to make Marco’s arms his home again. He wanted to say that he missed his best friend more than anything in the world. But he doesn’t say any of those things because he doesn’t have the strength or the courage to do so. Instead he just smiled and shrugged, without even looking Marco in the eyes.

A few moments (moments that feel like forever) pass before Marco speaks and the air is heavy around them. Mario breaths in and out slowly, trying to think about other things, (like the goal he scored today and when he searched for Marco, he found him looking at him or the breakfast his mom makes him when he goes home), and not the way his bottom lip feels numb from biting it and his knuckles white from holding the bench he is sitting on with too much strength. When Marco finally opens his mouth to say something, Mario can almost see the smile that the other man gives him without even looking at him (if he closes his eyes he can picture it perfectly, the way Marco’s eyes soften and how it warms Mario all over); he knows those smiles like he knows how to play football. “Thanks”, Marco says, it’s quiet but full of meaning behind the words, like he was waiting for this for too long, “you too.”  


And just like that, they lock eyes and instantly the air feels lighter, everything falls back into place and it feels like they were never apart at all. It feels like old promises whispered between kisses, promises that Mario broke but never forgot; promises that haunt him and his restless dreams. Even if he knows that when all this is over, he’ll have to go back to Munich and he doesn’t know if he can look around the pitch for Marco and instead of him, find a different person, another pair of eyes, another friend. So he tries to focus on the now because it’s all he has and even if maybe he thought things wouldn't be the same again, they can build something new. And the look Marco gives him makes everything worth it; his eyes are filled with hope and maybe new promises waiting to be broken.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry i hecked up i'm trash :/  
> it's just a little thing nothing wow because you know i needed to get this out of my chest AND THEY ARE SO ALIVE and god i wanna cry


End file.
